“Pray with me,” the priest said to Markus and Ezekiel.
Chanting in Arabic, their voices combined to exterminate the beast within. The tempest slung a light fixture against the wall, shattering glass, casting them into darkness. Paintings, picture frames, and loose articles whipped about like a vehement temper tantrum. A chrome frame clunked the priest in the temple, drawing blood. He stumbled.
Ezekiel and Markus morphed into their angelic forms, setting the room aglow.
Seeley’s eyeballs protruded. She choked and gagged, her flesh turning scarlet. Purplish veins enlarged along her chest, branching up the column of her throat into her cheeks and creeping past her temples into her hairline. Markus looked to Ezekiel as he applied extra pressure to Seeley’s convulsing body.
Vomit sprayed from her mouth, splattering them. “Zeke wants to fuck Seeley,” Arabic, inflected with contempt, spewed to the angels. “All he thinks about is her juiciness. Don’t you, Zeke?”
Ezekiel gritted his teeth.
“Don’t listen,” said Markus, peering to his brother angel.
“Hmmph. Hard not to,” groused Ezekiel, squeezing his eyes shut.
“You both know better,” reproached Father James. “The words come from the demon.”
Maniacal laughter fractured the walls as the priest flipped to the next page and continued. He coerced the despicable legion for hours until his voice lost its edge. Sweat sheeted over his face, leaching into his frock. His slick hair was coated to his skull. The black typed words blurred over the white page. Father James swabbed his face on his sleeve and pinched the bridge of his brow. He glanced at the time: 3 a.m.
A scream suddenly rent the air. Not the scream of the devil, but Seeley’s agonizing and earsplitting wails.
As if Jordan had been looming outside the door, she lunged inside, regardless of the danger.
Markus cried, “No!”
MY SOUL IS BOWED DOWN
JORDAN FLUNG HERSELF over her mother as the startled priest backpedaled. She embraced Seeley like a clinging vine, and sobbed. “Mom, I know you’re in there. You can fight this thing. C’mon, Mom. You need to fight for us. Fight for me. Fight for Declan.”
Whether the wicked spirit released Seeley or tunneled deeper into the recesses of her being, her entire body melted and relaxed. However, those present looked to each other. The legion might have easily fled Seeley for a new host—Jordan.
Markus attempted to pry his young charge from her mom while Ezekiel kept a solid grip on Seeley. “You might have compromised yourself,” Markus reprimanded, untangling her clutching hold. “Jordan, let go.”
“It’s been hours,” she wept as he dragged her off. “She’s dying. She’s dying. Can’t you see?”
“We can only pray its tentacles are slackening.”
During her tirade, the haggard priest lurched to the recliner. The bible cracked open on his lap. The pages flipped by themselves and landed on a passage.
Ezekiel eyed the rustling pages. “You must read it. Aloud.”
“‘Therefore, put on the armor of God, that you may be able to resist on the evil day to hold your ground,’” Father James quoted. “‘Stand fast with your loins girded in truth, clothed with righteousness as a breastplate and your feet shod in readiness. In all circumstances, hold faith as a shield, to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. And take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.’”
Each spoken phrase seemed to renew them.
Seeley, although disheveled, appeared to be resting comfortably. Her breathing was regular, though her eyelids remained shuttered. Ezekiel tucked a blanket around her and threw a sheet over Father James.
“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”
The priest nodded. Then, lolling his head over the cushioned chair, he said to Markus, “I’ll need reinforcements. Get Father Chesterton.”
Father Andre Chesterton was well known throughout the country as the priest to summon concerning bizarre cases, and likewise, Father James had a reputation as his rising star.
In response, Markus simply dipped his chin and shepherded Jordan from the room. Once secluded in the hallway, he ordered, “Go to bed. And don’t go into that room. No matter what you hear. Do you understand?”
“I think I helped just now. Mom heard me. She’s fighting on the inside.”
“You might be right.” A tired-looking, human Mark pressed his fingers to his eyes and then massaged his neck. “But we can’t take the chance of you being possessed.”
“Why is it taking so long? I thought Father James would say the prayers and poof, Mom would be back to her old self.”
“That’s not always the case. This possessive curse is potent.”
She clipped an errant piece of hair behind her ear and grumbled. Lifting her arm, her fingers tapped her mouth mulling it over. “What can I do?” she said between her fingers.
He leaned on the wall and inhaled. “Pray. It always helps.”
“I’ve been praying. I want to do more.” Her shoulders dropped with discouragement. When she lowered her hand, her lips were set in a mulish line. “The mystic, or whoever that was in the crystal ball, said I needed to gain access to The Order. He said it was the only way to help Mom.”
In a show of irritation, Markus thumped his head on the wall. “Getting caught in the cult? How is that supposed to help Seeley?”
“By finding the person who cursed her.” Quick with her retort, she linked her thumbs into her belt loops and peered at the one person who understood her. “I could use your help.”
Unhitching his back from the wall, he cupped his hands on her shoulders. Fathomless eyes steered a clean trail to her heart.
“I’m here for you, Jordan. Always.” For a moment, he closed his eyes. “Can we at least wait until Father Chesterton looks at Seeley?”
“Yes, of course.” Her voice reflected her resignation. She forked her fingers into her curtains of hair and pulled, letting the bulk cascade down her back. “I have the strangest feeling, like I’m being called.”
Markus’s eyes narrowed pursing his mouth. He didn’t appear to like what she’d said. “Can I trust you to go to bed and get some sleep?”
Lacking a comeback, she nudged past him and walked into her bedroom. How could she sleep when her mom was being eaten alive? Jordan paced around the room, remembering how Zeke had literally pried Declan from Seeley for the second time that night.
The angel had added an ultimate warning. And the ferocious sparks in his eyes had been enough to scare the bejesus out of her. Jordan had tried to console Declan, but he’d gone for his own form of consolation—whiskey. He’d drank himself unconscious.
At least he didn’t hear mom’s Earth-shattering scream.
I need to keep busy. Where, where to begin?
An evocative answer came when she received a vision of the satanic church.
EXORCISM
A SENSE OF relief fell over the room as transitions of shadowy gray birthed into sweet morning sunshine. An overture to a fabulous day, it was, however, of little avail in the confines of the sulfur-riddled air.
Feeling a presence, Father James pried open his eyes. Father Andre Chesterton hobbled in, looking as if a heavy burden sloped his shoulders. His old mentor peered at the striking woman and the glorious angel, Ezekiel, guarding her bedside. Then his gaze skirted over the mess and arrested on him, lounging in an uncomfortable position on the chair.
Father Andre emitted a rumpled, tight-lipped smirk.
A tad muddled, Father James struggled to his feet. Since hearing of Chesterton’s deteriorating health, he’d been hard-pressed to employ his friend for the exorcism. Nevertheless, it was imperative to ameliorate Seeley’s condition. Andre had previously been robust and athletic, now bent and crooked. Father James peered into his mentor’s rheumy eyes. He could discern an intelligence of memory and dynamism.
“So kind of you to send a superb angel to rouse me, James.�
�� Father Andre’s stout voice didn’t match his frail body as he stretched an arthritic hand.
Reciprocating, Father James slipped his hand into Andre’s and was surprised at the elderly man’s substantial grip. In a loving, friendly gesture, he patted the old man’s shoulder, and then swerved to Seeley.
Father Andre followed his gaze. “Shall we begin, my dear friend?”
SEELEY’S SLEEP WAS disturbed as the smell of holy oil filled her senses and a cool touch against her skin made her flesh blister. Her soothing calm was replaced by barbed wire mangling her entrails as prayerful chanting lanced into her pores. Fluttering her eyelids, she was aghast by the scene before her.
“Zeke?” Her throat was on fire as she looked to her guardian angel whose steely gaze remained stable. “What’s happening? I don’t understand.”
Feeling feeble, she attempted to move and felt a weight on her shoulder. Cranking her head to the left, she saw Markus. His eyes darkened while his arms pinned her to the mattress.
“I don’t feel good.” She scarcely recognized her own voice. “Make it stop.”
The gut-wrenching ache intensified. She thought her body was aborting the infant. As she thrashed, the priests came into view.
Her eyes enlarged witnessing a third diaphanous priest floating in the foreground. “Father Posluszny?” she uttered breathlessly. “You’re here. Thank God. I need you.”
In the far depths of her soul, she heard, ‘I’m with you.’
‘Seeley, rebuke this evil,’ his voice sounded stronger this time.
Irrepressible delirium burned into her consciousness like hot pokers, throwing her into a chasm.
FATHER JAMES TOILED for three arduous hours. Seeley’s contortions and depraved profanities had ceased. Her body appeared to be at rest. Shoring-up Andre’s shaky elbow, James aided him to the cushioned chair. The toll was too debilitating for the aged priest. Father James berated himself for allowing Father Andre to collaborate in the exorcism. Evidently, it would be a long haul. Whatever or whoever was influencing Seeley had tremendous power.
They needed sustenance. As if someone had read his mind, a tap sounded on the door. Markus unbolted the lock to see Jordan holding a tray loaded with nourishment. He grabbed the proffered tray and handed it over to Ezekiel. Then shooing her into the hall, he followed, bumping into Declan.
Declan, eyes bloodshot and droopy, leered into Markus’s face. “Let me see my wife.” He obviously wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“Only for a minute.” Markus shoved open the door for him. “Seeley was lucid a while ago. She knows what’s happening. At least I think she knows.” Markus shifted from angel into human form. “Her inner battle is severe.”
“Yeah, I know what she’s up against.” Jordan crunched her nose as she gazed into his attractive face etched in weariness. “But I believe there’s more then you’re letting on.”
“You look like you’re going someplace,” he drawled, eyeing her up and down and ignoring her last comment.
For a potential scorcher of a day, Jordan was wearing long jeans and a jacket with pockets swelling with vials, a necklace touting a crucifix, and her hair was swept into a pristinely knotted braid.
Unceremoniously, Markus clasped her shoulders, spinning her around. “What’s in your back pockets? A book?”
“My cell phone,” she said, regarding his attitude with anger. “And an awesomely cool penknife that fits nicely in my pocket. If you must know.” She declined to mention the blessed salt she’d sprinkled in her sneakers.
“Awesomely cool, huh?” he mocked.
“Stop it, Markus. I’m going, and you can’t stop me.”
“I can stop you.”
“Against my will?”
“If it’s to save your life,” he said. His jaw clenched at an obstinate angle.
“You know what I have to do.” Her eyes sharpened. “Let me go.”
“Your role as a warrior has gone to your head.”
In her nervousness, she pulled on her ear lobe. “What’s that supposed to mean? Sounds kind of blasphemous.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He grazed his fingernails over his arm. “I don’t want you to think you’re invincible. You’re not. God gave you talents to use for His sake. Your body is human and can easily give way to…to—”
“I know, I know.” She didn’t want to hear it again.
Markus moved out of the way as Declan emerged from the bedroom.
He looked dismal, massaging his forehead. “They’re waiting for you.”
“Come and meet me as soon as possible,” Jordan said to Markus.
Visibly aggravated, Declan’s nostrils flared. “Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”
“There’s something I have to do for Mom.” Even though Declan appeared ready to blow, she persisted, obstinate with her decision. “You wouldn’t understand, Dec. But I have to go. I’ll be okay. Markus will help me.”
Declan veered to the sour-faced angel striding back into the bedroom.
Her stepfather wasn’t equipped for this kind of life. One final glimpse of his brooding features and Jordan headed out of the apartment.
WHEN MARKUS REENTERED the room, Ezekiel, Father James, and Father Andre were in a debate.
“. . . worth a try,” said a gritty eyed Ezekiel.
“You’re still not taking into effect the damages,” decreed Father Andre. He swayed like a brittle sapling. “Like I said, I’ve seen it done, but there were consequences.”
“Father Andre’s the expert,” said Father James. “Perhaps there’s another way.”
“As I see it, there is no other way.” Ezekiel remained steadfast, although he needed the priests’ assistance and their acceptance.
“What’s this all about?” Markus asked.
“Ezekiel’s spirit can penetrate Seeley’s body,” Father James explained. “Becoming one with her spirit, he can hopefully discover who, what, or where the root of the possession is.”
“That’s a great idea,” Markus agreed. “We should’ve thought of it sooner.”
“No, no, no.” Father Andre shook his head while holding onto his lower back. “I’ve utilized the process in the past, with both good and adverse results. The angel can be bound on the inside and the loss of their heavenly spirit is death.” He raised his hands in frustration. “What don’t you understand?”
Father James gazed at Markus and then Ezekiel. “What say you?”
“If my brother says it’s worth a try,” Markus stipulated, “then I’m in one hundred percent.”
“Thanks, Markus.” Ezekiel and Markus clutched each other’s forearms in a bonding gesture. “Seeley’s fighting on the inside. I’d like to join in the fray.”
Father Andre seemed to age another year as his back humped all the more. “The loss of God’s transcendent angel would be a travesty. However, I will agree, if James believes…” His voice trailed off, hanging by a sliver of a thread.
“I could also enter,” Markus said, “if we foresee a problem.”
“Not wise, not wise,” wisped Andre’s thinning voice. “We could lose everyone.”
Ezekiel patted Markus on the shoulder. “You got my back this time, Markus.”
“I do, Zeke. I do.”
“We’ll need muscle, Markus.” Father James foraged through his duffle and brought out straps of cowhide. “This will help. We’ll have to tie her wrists and ankles to the bed frame. I know it seems barbaric, but it’s our only choice.”
As if the possessive spirit was eavesdropping or had an inclination of the impending drama, the usurping spirit levitated Seeley three feet above the bed. In an abhorrent twist, her body rotated, her arms dangling. Currently facing the mattress, it looked as if her vertebra was going to break in two as her arms and legs extended to the ceiling, pulling her torso upward. Her backbone smacked the ceiling, pinning her arms horizontally. Her juxtaposed legs resembled the depiction of the crucifixion. As she manifested the diabolical pose, punct
ure wounds appeared on her palms and feet and blood trickled to the pastel sheets below.
Unkempt locks of hair shrouded her face, and again, the brisk rising and falling of her chest was seen. Rumbled vibrations crept up her throat, making her sound like a temperamental grizzly bear.
“Come and get me, you filthy animals.”
It was a tug-of-war as Markus and Ezekiel managed to wrench Seeley close enough to the bed for Father James to secure her ankles and her wrists to the bedposts. All the while, with a bible in one hand, Father Andre’s booming voice resonated, his other hand splashing holy water.
“Ready?” Ezekiel turned to Father James. “Bless me, Father.”
Without reluctance, the two priests consecutively blessed Ezekiel with holy oil and water, granting him a shield of protection. He vanished.
Markus anticipated a balking entity. Nonetheless, he wasn’t prepared for the convoluted deformity. Seeley’s body yanked and jerked at the bindings. A turbulent whirlpool smashed around the room. The priests dodged and ducked, not deterring from their chore.
Markus, virtually lying on top of Seeley, endeavored to quell her outrageous movements.
Like a choreographed amalgam of recited prayers, Father James and Father Andre retraced their steps. Over and over, they chanted in sync, praying between stanzas. “We beseech the most powerful, holy, almighty name of Jesus. In Jesus’s name we rebuke Satan and all the evil spirits in possession of Seeley Donovan.”
Father Andre winced, outwardly in pain with each cast of holy water, immersing her body in prayers of sanctification.
FULFILL BY VOW
DAY AFTER DAY
TROTTING AT A moderate pace, Jordan’s rubber-soled sneakers beat on the concrete sidewalk. Relapsing into her vision, she’d fashioned the memory of the brick church, though she couldn’t seem to recall the street name where she’d need to turn. The word Bark or Bard? No, she thought, shaking her head. Then Barton Street popped into her head. Yes, that’s it.
Wickedly They Dream Page 13